Sometimes when they were alone or unobserved the boys conversed, and upon one of these occasions Shoz-Dijiji exclaimed: “How wonderful to have been born an Apache! I should think that the white-eyed men would prefer death to the shame of not being Apaches. They have no great warriors or we should have heard of them and no one is afraid of them. We kill their people and they fear us so that they promise to feed us in idleness if we will kill no more. What manner of men are they who are so without shame! If other men kill our people, do we feed them and beg them to do so no more? No! we go among them and slay ten for every Apache that they have killed.” “There are many of them,” sighed Gian-nah-tah. “For every ten we kill, there are a hundred more to come. Some day there will be so many that we cannot kill them all; then what will become of the Apaches?” “You have listened to the talk of Nanáy,” replied Shoz-Dijiji. “He is getting old. He does not know what he is talking about. The more white-eyes there are the more we can kill. Nothing would suit Shoz-Dijiji better. I hate them and when I am a great warrior I shall kill and kill and kill.” “Yes,” said Gian-nah-tah, “that will be great medicine, if it does not happen that there are more white-eyes than we can kill. If there are we are the ones who will be killed.” In the mountains of Sonora Geronimo camped where he had an almost impassable mountain fastness at his back and a view of a broad valley spread out below him, and he was secure in the knowledge that no enemy could reach him undetected. The very first day their scouts discovered a wagon train winding up the valley at their feet and Geronimo sent two braves down among the foothills to spy upon it. All day the train wound up the valley and all day savage, unseen eyes watched its every move, saw it go into camp, saw the precautions that were taken to prevent attack, and carried the word back to the war chief, who had been scouting in another direction. “There are twenty wagons, each drawn by eight mules,” the scout reported to Geronimo. “There are twenty Mexicans, well armed. They ride with their weapons beside them. It is as though they feared attack, for they are often peering this way and that, and always those in the rear keep well closed up and glance back often—there are no stragglers.” “And in camp?” inquired Geronimo. “They form their wagons in a circle and inside the circle are the mules and the men. There were two armed men on guard. They are vigilant.” “They are men,” said Geronimo. “Some time they will relax their vigilance.” He turned toward the youths who were busy at the camp fire. “Shoz-Dijiji,” he called, “come here!” The lad came and stood before the war chief.